Stolen (A valentine's fanfic) (Sherlock X Reader)
by LadyFantasy221B
Summary: Sherlock set up a case for you to solve. Was it to challenge your mind or your heart?


"Come to Baker street at once." As soon as I picked up the phone, I heard Sherlock's voice at the end of it.

"Why?" I asked, surprised that he called.

"Just come. I'll tell you when you get here." He said and hung up."

What could possibly be so urgent that he had to call me? He never calls, he always preferred to text. Fortunately, I wasn't that far from Baker Street.

I entered the flat to see Sherlock sitting at his sofa.

As soon as he saw me, he jumped up immediately.

"You came here fast." He said. I could detect some signs of nervousness. Why is that?

"I was just around the corner when you called. So why did you ask me to come?" I asked.

"I have a new case. Do you remember Angelo's Restaurant?" He gestured me to the sofa in front of him and went to the kitchen to get us tea.

"Yes." I replied. Angelo's...that's where I first met Sherlock and where I fell for him.

"There was a pickpocketing incident there. A man was pickpocketed while he was having dinner. He only noticed that his belonging was stolen when he got home." He explained.

"A pickpocketing?" That was unexpected.

"What?" He returned with tea.

"This case sounds too boring for you, why did you take it?"

"It's not for me. It's for you." He passed me a cup of tea.

"For me? Why?" I was taken aback.

"I want to see if you can solve it. "

"Why?" I took a sip of my tea and was enjoying the warmth from it.

"Because I want to see how good you are. Lets begin. I'll tell you all that you need to know to solve this case." He sat at his sofa and drank his tea.

"Were the police involved?" I asked.

"No, the client didn't want the police involved." Now he's tapping his fingers on the armrest.

"That's odd."

"Is it?"

"When one's items gets stolen, the first people they would report to is the police, not a private detective."

"Maybe the client doesn't like the police." Sherlock said.

"Or maybe what was stolen was something that may not be important enough to report to the police but it is important to the client." I suggested.

Then, there was silence. I look up to see Sherlock looking slightly surprised.

"Am I right?" I asked timidly.

"Yes, you are. Do continue." I saw him smiling a little before he placed his hands under his chin in a prayer position.

"What was stolen?" I asked.

"You should know that."

"How should I know? I didn't pickpocket the client." I exclaimed sarcastically.

Sherlock just shrugged. Was that a clue? That I am the pickpocket?

"What was the time when the incident happened?" I asked.

"8pm."

"So, he was having dinner. Was he with someone at that time?"

"Yes, his best friend." Sherlock cleared his throat.

"Did his best friend see anything?"

"He saw that the pickpocket was a woman but didn't see what was stolen."

"Did they chat with her? What did she look like?"

"They did chat with her but the client was distracted. The woman was very beautiful. She has gorgeous black curls, unique eyes and such soft looking lips." Sherlock smiled and I raised an eyebrow, suspicious of his description. It was like he was there and he knew what she looked like.

"According to the client, of course." Sherlock cleared his throat and sat up straighter.

"At Angelo's...8pm...dinner...a woman and he was with his best friend." I listed down all that we know for now and I noticed something. Why does all of these sound familiar?

"Have you figured something out? You look like you did." Sherlock was trying to hide a smile the whole time.

What is going on exactly?

Oh my! It can't be.

"You didn't tell me the exact date when the incident happened, Sherlock." I noticed.

"Exactly a year ago, on this exact date." He smirked.

I met Sherlock exactly a year ago!

"You're the client, aren't you, Sherlock? I first met you and John at Angelo's a year ago." I gasped.

"You got it. And?" His eyes lit up.

"I am the pickpocket?!" I was confused. What does this all mean?

"Exactly." He leaned towards me.

"What did I steal from you, Sherlock Holmes?" I stared into his eyes as he stood up from his chair and came closer to me.

"My heart." He pushed my hair behind my ear and caressed my cheek.

"Your heart?" I was left speechless.

So, the client was actually Sherlock the whole time.

He said that I should know what the pickpocket had stolen because I stole it.

I stole his heart when we first met.

"You like me?" I gasped.

"That's an understatement." He chuckled with that low and charming voice of his.

"Wait a minute!" I realised something. I took out my phone to be sure.

"That explains it." I was finally able to connect the dots.

I checked the text Sherlock sent me this morning, 'illw oyu eb ym inetenlav?' and the date, 14 February.

After rearranging the words, I looked back at Sherlock.

"Will you be my valentine?" I read the text out loud.

Sherlock was already down on his knees, presenting a single red rose to me. He looked up at me with such hopeful and sincere eyes.

If it were not for the fact that I was still sitting down on my chair, I would have fainted.

"Yes, Sherlock, I will be your valentine." I took the rose from him.

"I was hoping for you to say that." He stood up, placed his manly hands gently on my jawline and landed his lips on mine.

His lips felt warm on mine.

My heart was beating so fast and I felt his chest pressing against my body.

I was gripping onto his shirt, unable to get back to reality.

Is this actually happening?

I ran my fingers through his curls as I embraced the loving feeling.

"I..." He breathed in between kisses.

"Love..." He breathed in again.

"You." He admitted.

I couldn't help but smile as we were kissing.

"I love you too." I whispered and I felt the corners of his mouth turning up as he smiled too.

"You should be charged for pickpocketing too by the way." I said.

"And why is that?" He looked at me.

"Because you stole my heart too." I teased.

"And our punishment is love." Sherlock smirked as I laughed.

Our hearts were stolen by each other.


End file.
